Aftermath

Jarrod bolted upright. His shoulder throbbed in pain at the sudden movement and he gulped in large breaths of air to try and dismiss the pain and panic the nightmare caused. Oh, god, he’d been back there in that barn, his captor pressed up against him…

Jarrod forced his eyes to stay open, to take in the sights of the comfortable room and banish the images that threatened to overwhelm him. He’s dead, the lawyer told himself, you killed him yourself. It’s over.

But it wasn’t over. Ben Coulter, who’d solicited the services of Jed Parker, was still out there, still able to unleash who knew what other sorts of evil on he and his family and he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until Coulter was stopped. Carefully, slowly, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Grabbing the headboard with his left hand, Jarrod pulled himself to his feet and stood swaying until he got his balance. His muscles protested as he walked cautiously over to the window, but he made it with only a little difficulty.

The sun was just starting to spread its rays over the horizon. Jarrod could hear the songs of waking birds, horses shuffling in a nearby corral and the unmistakable sound of someone in the house stoking the stove and getting ready for the day. He ran a hand through his hair before pulling on his cleaned pants that were draped over the back of a chair. Taking a deep breath, Jarrod opened the door and stepped out into the kitchen.

Liz Morgan looked up from the coffeepot she’d just put on the stove. “And just what are you doing out of bed?” she demanded.

Jarrod managed a ghost of his usually brilliant smile. “Couldn’t sit still any longer,” he told her. He looked self-consciously down at his bandaged torso. “I wonder if you might have a shirt I can borrow?”

Liz wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll grab you one of my husband’s.” She went over to a basket beside the fireplace and pulled out a grey shirt. “I just finished mending it,” she said as she handed it to Jarrod who pulled it on carefully. Mindful of the ceaseless ache in his back and shoulders and the pain in his hand, he managed to fumble the buttons closed.

“I’m much obliged. If I can get a ride or borrow a horse after breakfast, I’ll head to town so I can repay my debt to your family.”

Liz opened her mouth as if to protest and then stopped and shook her head when she saw the determined look on Jarrod’s face. “My husband and son had to head out early and they won’t be back until late, but I suppose you can borrow a horse.” She gave him a stern look as she pushed a cup of coffee into his hands. “You really need to let yourself rest a few more days.”

Shaking his head, Jarrod looked down at the coffee cup. “I need to get moving. There are some things…” He paused and his hand tightened around the cup. “Some things I have to take care of.”

After a quick breakfast, Liz reluctantly showed him where the tack was kept and she helped him saddle the roan gelding. It wasn’t the easiest task with his shoulder throbbing and his right hand barely useful, but it wasn’t the first time he’d done those things injured and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

Jarrod felt an immense rush of release as he mounted and loped off towards town. Going into the barn to ready the horse had taken every ounce of willpower he contained and he didn’t realize how stifling the small house felt until he got outside. He took deep breaths of the fresh air and enjoyed the wind on his face, for a brief time able to push back the dark memories that had taken up residence in his mind.

That was, until he reached town. Knight’s Ferry was a boomtown just waking up for the day and the scurry of people going about their business made Jarrod’s skin crawl. He resolutely guided his mount to the front of the bank. I just need a gun, a hat and a shirt that fits properly, he told himself, coming up with a rational excuse for his unease. And send out a couple wires to see if I can locate Coulter. Straightening his shoulders and ignoring the pain, Jarrod walked into the bank.

Several hours later, Jarrod was thankful to be on his way. While waiting for replies to his queries on Coulter’s whereabouts, he’d purchased a horse and supplies, paid the doctor and left a message for Nick. The doctor tried to talk him out of leaving, but Jarrod was adamant. He needed to find Ben Coulter before the former judge could harm anyone else. Finally, a reply came back, placing Coulter in Plymouth, up near Sacramento. Jarrod briefly stopped at the Morgan farm to return the shirt and horse and leave some money for their kindness in taking care of him before heading out on his mission to stop Ben Coulter once and for all.

*

Nick Barkley was frustrated. The clerk at the hotel in Knight’s Ferry hadn’t heard of Jarrod and the doctor who’d sent the telegram was away from his office. Glaring at the sign on the door that read, “Back soon”, the tall rancher considered where he should go next. He moved to the edge of the sidewalk and surveyed the town before his eyes lit on another sign. Quickly striding across the street, Nick walked into the sheriff’s office.

The older man looked up from the stack of papers on the desk. “Can I help you, stranger?”

“Name’s Nick Barkley.” Nick was gratified by the look of recognition that came with his name. “I’m looking for my brother Jarrod.”

The sheriff stood up and shook Nick’s hand energetically. “Matt Warren, Mr. Barkley. It sure is good to meet you. Can’t tell you how much I admire your brother’s strength and courage.”

Nick leaned against the desk. “Well, now, I wouldn’t mind hearing what happened and where I can find him. All I got was a message from the doc saying he’d been hurt and was going to be okay.”

“Don’t really know all the details,” Sheriff Warren said as he headed over to the small stove and picked up the pot there. “Coffee?” Nick shook his head and the sheriff poured himself a cup before continuing. “All I know is he tangled with one of the most evil snakes this country had to offer and got pretty tore up before he killed the bastard. Dragged himself quite a ways before someone found him, Doc wasn’t sure that he was going to make it. I would’ve contacted you sooner, but we didn’t know your brother’s name until he was able to tell us yesterday.” Warren sipped his coffee. “The Morgans found him. He was staying out at their place, but I heard he left town earlier.”

“Left town?” Nick couldn’t believe his ears. “Where the devil would he have gone? Didn’t he get the wire I was coming?”

The sheriff shrugged. “Gave him the message myself. I thought he might’ve headed out to meet you. But maybe talk to Doc Carter. Your brother might’ve stopped in to see him before he left.”

“Yeah, well, thanks,” Nick grumbled as he left the office. Luck was with him when he went back to the doctor’s office, as the physician was just unlocking his door. Pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes, Dr. Carter eyed Nick closely.

“What seems to be the trouble?” he asked as opened the door and went inside, moving out of the way so Nick could follow.

“I’m looking for my brother, Jarrod Barkley,” Nick said shortly. “Heard tell you might have talked to him.”

The doctor threw his keys onto the desk and took off his hat. “I sure did. Let me tell you, Mr. Barkley, your brother is one of the most stubborn, mule-headed men I’ve ever had the pleasure to run across. I recommended he stay put for a little longer, but he wouldn’t listen. Just paid my fee and left a note for you, as long as you’re Nick Barkley.”

Nick couldn’t contain a chuckle at Dr. Carter’s description of Jarrod, a description that was usually reserved for he and Heath, rather than their more cool-headed older brother. He took the folded paper handed to him and read the terse two-sentence message.

Nick,

Have some things to take care of. I’ll be in touch.

Jarrod

Nick stared at the note, unable to reconcile the untidy scrawl with his older brother’s elegant copperplate script. “Are you positive Jarrod Barkley gave you this message? It doesn’t look like his writing to me.”

The doctor sighed. “Sit down, Mr. Barkley.” He indicated a nearby chair and sat in another. Nick reluctantly sat down. “The man who wrote this, who said he was Jarrod Barkley from Stockton, is about six feet tall, reasonably well-built, with dark hair and blue eyes. He also has a prominent birthmark just above his left wrist. Does that describe your brother?” Nick nodded slowly and the doctor continued. “Mr. Barkley, I didn’t tell your brother to stay put for a while lightly. To be honest, I’m surprised he’s alive, much less able to ride out of here.”

A knot of anxiety formed in Nick’s stomach, the same knot he’d felt when he received the doctor’s wire telling him that Jarrod had been injured. “Tell me, doc,” he insisted. “Tell me exactly what happened to my brother.”

“Well, I shouldn’t say anything,” Dr. Carter started slowly, “but seeing as how you’re his brother, I think you should know how serious his injuries actually are. The reason you don’t recognize his handwriting is because he had to write that note left-handed. His right wrist was tore up pretty bad. Severed a tendon, damaged some others, making it hard for him to use that hand. It looked like he’d been restrained somehow, which fits with his other injuries.”

The doctor paused and Nick growled, “Spit it out, Doc. This is my brother we’re talking about. I need to know.”

“He has some broken ribs and a half-healed head wound, likely from a bullet graze. But the worst, aside from his wrist, is his back. He was burned repeatedly with what might have been a branding iron, then whipped. I counted at least twenty lashes, but with the amount of damage, it could have been more.” The doctor fixed Nick with a serious gaze. “He was half-dead from fever and blood loss when he stumbled onto the Morgans’ farm. Turns out he’d come over ten miles after killing the animal who did that to him.”

Nick was stunned speechless. He’d known it would be bad, with Jarrod turning up almost fifty miles from where he was supposed to be and the comments from the sheriff, but the doctor’s recitation of Jarrod’s injuries floored him. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what sort of torment his big brother went through and suddenly wished it were Heath who was there and him the one taking the cattle to San Francisco. Even though he didn’t talk about it, Nick knew that Heath’s incarceration in Carterson as a prisoner of war would give him an understanding that Nick would thankfully never have. He felt guilty, being grateful for that. He’d been there when Heath’s nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and it tore at his heart that his brother had to live through that sort of hell, and now it seemed his other brother had been through a similar ordeal.

“Do you know where he went?”

Dr. Carter shook his head. “Can’t say as I do. All he said was he had something he had to take care of. Maybe he told the Morgans more. Their farm’s about five miles west of town.” He rose when Nick got to his feet. “I hope you find him. He’s in no shape to be riding out on his own, whatever it is that he needs to do.”

“Yeah.” Nick shook the doctor’s hand before leaving to find his horse and head out to the Morgan farm.

Liz Morgan had no other information for him and Nick left the farm no closer to finding Jarrod. He rode back to town under a cloud of frustration, not used to being helpless and hating the feeling. The hotel clerk quickly handed over the key when Nick growled for it and several patrons quickly busied themselves as he stomped up the stairs. He threw the key and his hat on the bed and paced to the window, looking out briefly before turning and striding across the room in a restless circle, back to the window then back to the door. What the devil had happened to Jarrod? Who would have wanted to imprison and torture his older brother? And more importantly right now, where the hell was he and what the devil was he doing?